


Misc. Solavellan In The Enansal Universe

by Millennium_Fae



Series: Enansal [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Other, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millennium_Fae/pseuds/Millennium_Fae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short drabbles involving Solas, Lavellan, their child Agency, and other misfits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shorn Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas of ancient Elvhenan looked very different from the Solas of today. Lavellan decides to ask why. (Mentions of hair loss and intense mental trauma, but with a happy ending.) Ace romance, no sexual content, with mentions of nudity.

Lavellan and Solas laid skin-to-skin upon a large bedroll, their bare bodies covered with a thick bear pelt. The artificial light of the Crossroads shone rivets of pale yellow from an unidentifiable source, and cast the surrounding (floating) stone ruins into silhouettes of white and blue. From where they lay, Lavellan could just see an eternity of blackness peaking from behind the stimulated midday sky, and if she concentrated hard enough, the cosmos beyond that. 

Solas’ warm, weathered hand was a comforting weight upon her chest, his soft breath gusting upon her forehead. Due to recent events, they’d had to devote some many days to a deep sleep; Solas hadn’t needed to eat for nutritional value in many centuries, and Lavellan developed the same ability just recently. Instead, both elves now draw energy directly from the Fade itself. If their bodies showed signs of exhaustion, that was their cue to lie down and sleep themselves back to health. Lavellan quickly learned that the process could take a mere couple hours, or it could be days. 

Two nights ago, both elves had noticed each other’s lethargy, and decided to take the initiative to sleep until their strength returned. Lavellan had estimated that they’d wake the next morning, but Solas disagreed and told the two of them to manage their affairs in anticipation of at least five days of absence. 

Lavellan was at first skeptical, but today she realized that Solas was right to assume that they’d needed more rest than she had previously guessed. They had awoken a mere minutes apart from each other; Lavellan first, then Solas, and spent a few quiet moments simply enjoying the warmth of each other.

Surrounding the two elves was a makeshift camp set in the open balcony of a white stone tower, which Solas guessed was probably once part of a small redoubt. The once-intact tower was now cracked and slowly crumbling, almost empty of furnishings aside from a few cloth hangings that fluttered in the slight breeze. An overgrown ecosystem had taken over part of the tower, with a small trickle of water that traveled from the top of the alcove and down to the never-ending depths of the Crossroads. Green vines crept up the bricks.

Lavellan breathed deeply in contentment. She shifted her head to gaze at Solas, who’s half-lidded eyes stared absently into nothing. Lost in thought once again. She sneaked a hand from underneath the coverings and gently traced Solas’ soft cheek, circling the sparse freckles that dotted his face. Solas’ hand squeezed in response.

In the close proximity, Lavellan slowly noticed the slightest change in Solas’ skintone. Before, she knew it to be a pasty sallow, almost sickly yellow-grey. But as she looked closer now, it seemed to have deepened in shade and grown richer in tone. It was no longer pale and yellow, like the white of an egg, but darker, closer to the color of roasted wheat. 

She paused in her caresses and inched closer to Solas’ cheek. The difference became more visibly obvious - had there been a visual documentation of Solas’ skin before, compared to Solas’ skin now, Lavellan wagered that there’d be a solid two or three shades difference between the two. Solas turned his gaze to Lavellan’s own at her sudden movement.

Can gods tan? Lavellan supposed it possible, especially considering that the Crossroads ran rampant with brightness at any given time of day. It was only when either Solas or Lavellan felt the urge did the sky be anything other than something akin to midday of the physical world. Sometimes, Lavellan wished to experience a night atmosphere rather than the soft sun it usually was. So if Solas spent the time he claimed he did living in the Crossroads, perhaps his skin reacted just so.

But Solas had spent a hefty three years living with the Inquisition, and there was no shortage of sun exposure during that time. Lavellan remembered becoming very brown after a mere four days spent in the Western Approach, while Varric and Blackwall had burned and Cassandra had tanned alongside her. Solas, on the other hand, had remained the same sallow pale that he ever did. She did remember Solas lightheartedly admitting to casting magic upon his bald head to prevent burning, and accepted that reasoning for the lack of tanning. 

So did Solas stop casting that particular spell, and therefor expose his skin to be browned accordingly? A decision she’d appreciate, she thought to herself, since it gave his pallor a much healthier turn. He no longer looked as if he’d hadn’t stepped foot outside a cave in centuries. 

As accurate as that assumption would have been.

Solas smirked under Lavellan’s silent scrutiny and asked, “Something on your mind?”

Lavellan shook her head and stretched herself. “Not really. I was looking at your skin. It had grown slightly darker, probably due to this sunlight,” and she punctuated the end of her sentence with a wave at the bright streams of light that coated every visible corner of the Crossroads.

Solas’ smirk died, and he slowly sat up, a strange, wide-eyed expression upon his face. He raised a forearm and began staring at it. He looked … strangely frightened, and also (inexplicably), perhaps a bit joyful.  Lavellan was caught off guard by his behavior, and also stared at his slightly-browned forearm, as though expecting it to suddenly grow wings and fly away. 

“Um.” Lavellan said, “Do you not normally tan?”

Solas snapped his gaze up to look at her, his arm still held in front of him. He said nothing for a few seconds, obviously bewildered. Then he turned back to gaze at his skin. “Not… No. This … this is a revelation.”

Lavellan furrowed her brow in confusion. 

Solas turned his arms this way and that, and lifted the fur pelt away to further examine the lower half of himself. The skin had darkened evenly across his entire body. He lifted the soles of his bare feet and eyed the palms of his inner hands, and Lavellan noticed the slightest line that separated a paleness on his soles and palms from the darker skin of the rest of his body.

Solas then raised a hand to rub at the bald skin of his skull, and came away looking slightly disappointed. Lavellan’s curiosity was set to burning, and finally asked, “What’re you going at, Solas?”

He gave a small, breathless laugh, and Lavellan’s eyebrows rose even further up her forehead. “I’m not so sure, myself.”

Before Lavellan could respond, Solas engulfed her into a full-body embrace, and she fell silent. His hands rubbed up and down Lavellan’s back, and he nuzzled his cheek into the crook of Lavellan’s neck.

Solas wasn’t a distant man, but never has he been this tactile. The sudden change in behavior made Lavellan briefly wonder if something had gone horribly wrong. Or perhaps, something had gone wonderfully right. She hoped it was the latter; the both of them had experienced enough troubles for a lifetime.

There was a long silence. Then, Solas spoke in a soft voice.

“It’s odd, how certain events can so drastically change you.”

Lavellan kept quiet.

“The magic required to cast the Veil and banish the Envanuris drew every ounce of power that I had, even with the Orb as a conduit. I knew beforehand that I barely had the energy needed for the task, but I could see no other option. When I opened my eyes, I could not find myself.”

He raised a hand from behind Lavellan, and gazed down upon it as he spoke. “In a fit of panic, I writhed and grasped at my head. And great clumps of hair came with it.”

“You had hair?”

“Several feet of it. Long and dark red, worn in braids.”

Lavellan couldn’t resist a peek at Solas’ bald skull, imagining it sporting an impressive length of locks. At the moment, not even stubble dotted the skin.

“I awoke centuries later,” Solas continued, “and I looked down upon my hands and saw my skin grown pale, my hair gone, and I was several inches shorter.” He let out a baneful chuckle. “See? Odd, isn’t it?”

She didn’t respond, and pulled away just enough to look Solas in the eye. This onslaught of new information was taking its sweet time to sink in.

Solas, ever collected, stared right back. Waiting for a response when she couldn’t think of one.

What does it mean, for someone to have lost their hair, and grown pale and short because of a magical spell? 

Or perhaps, it wasn’t the spell at all? 

What does it mean for Pride to have been shorn, bleached, and shrunken?

And, Lavellan realized as she eyed the newly-darkened skin, what does it mean for it all to be growing back?

She finally smiled, and Solas gave a small smile in response. Lavellan raised her hands to ghost over Solas’ skull, still warm from sleep.

“When your hair finally grows back, I want to brush it out.”

He laughed. “Wishful thinking, my love.”

Lavellan shook her head and kissed his temple. “It will. And it’ll be glorious.”  She imagined Solas with his beautiful dark skin, and flowers woven amongst his long hair. 

Hair always grows back. As does pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas' concept art shall forever be canon to me. This takes place in my Enansal series, so both Solas and Lavellan are parents during this story, and living in the Crossroads as gods of 'freedom' and 'rebellion'. Their child doesn't make an appearance in this particular drabble.
> 
> Lavellan and Solas uses 'she/her', 'he/him' pronouns, but they're non-binary agender gods/spirits and their bodies are left to the reader's discretion.


	2. Curiosity And Agency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas' child 'Agency' does a nasty fall and gets a cold for their trouble.

Both elves usually made a great effort when it came to Agency’s health and safety. Being little more than a baby, Agency stood a mere 25 inches and weighed perhaps 15 pounds. When traveling in rough weather, Solas bore Agency upon his back by wrapping them tightly in a bundled sling, leaving only a few bare inches of their face exposed to the elements. And even on more temperate days, Agency was forcibly dressed in thick layers (which always resulted in some whining and griping). The family rarely traveled in mild climates, and usually spent time in high altitudes, or the cold south of Thedas.

But Agency, truly their parent’s child, could only be contained so much. Lavellan and Solas quickly realized that, given the chance, Agency would not hesitate to rip off any constricting clothing and romp naked. More than once the two of them turned their back for a few minutes, only to turn around to see a haphazard pile of shed clothing and a bare-ass toddler waddling happily in the distance. It’s impressive how fast a baby can propel themselves, both elves once grumbled to each other.

A naked baby running rampant amongst daylight’s spring air is one thing. But that same behavior during a winter’s windy night could quickly spell disaster. So it came to be that when Solas sat Agency to settle down for the evening, he first buried the child with his backpack, the bedroll, and the un-rolled tent. Agency was delicately pinned under the collective weight.

Solas grasped Agency’s exposed head with both hands. “I better not see you move a single inch,” he demanded, staring into Agency’s eyes.

The child nodded to their father on instinct, not even capable of moving their arms without upsetting the objects piled atop them.

Solas hrumphed in satisfaction, and turned away to light a fire. He had decided to retire the two upon the snowy alcove of a mountain range, which was half-way to the peak. Another day’s journey, and they should be able to reach the top, and the information that Solas was looking for.

This wasn’t the first time that he’d brought Agency upon a slightly-less-than-child-friendly journey. Neither Lavellan nor Solas had any extensive child-bearing experience before Agency came along, but they were pretty certain that most parents would balk at the idea of dragging a toddler up a steep, snowy, two-day-long mountain path. Or, for that matter, a fortnight in the Deep Roads. Or 20 miles through a forest infamous for its poisonous fauna. 

But then again, most parents weren’t Solas and Lavellan. And most children were not Agency. Many of Solas’ most treasured memories were hearing Agency’s cries of joy as they were exposed to the many hidden treasures of Thedas, and seeing their eyes light up in wonder. Huge, sprawling veins of glowing blue lyrium that twisted through ancient Dwarven ingenuity, lighting up the massive caverns with iridescent shine. The creak and rumble of pre-human engineering being activated once again after centuries of inactivity. Saltwater tide pools housing countless colorful ocean life. The most alien-looking flowers and magnificent birds with glorious plumage. Solas would brave almost any existing danger if it meant giving Agency some joy. Anything to titilate the mind and stimulate the imagination.

So if either Solas and Lavellan needed to explore some hidden, forgotten place, for whatever reason, they always brought Agency with them. Sometimes, the two parents traveled together. But most of the time, one was left to manage affairs elsewhere, while another did the dirty work. This time around, Solas was the one to brave the mission.

Agency tried valiantly to keep still under the weight of a tent, a bedroll, and their father’s backpack. They watched as Solas arranged stones and wood logs into a triangular pile, and with a practiced wriggle of his fingers, lit a flame upon the dry tinder that sat underneath the larger wood. Lavellan also used magic to light fires, but instead would purse her lips and spit out a stream of flame. Solas claimed such a method wasted energy. Only good for a show, he once griped to Lavellan. She had simply given a teasing smirk in response.

Solas approached Agency once again, and rummaged through the backpack currently pressing down upon Agency’s stomach. He took out a small tin kettle, a tincture of honey, and a bladder of milk to make a hot drink for them both. Later, he would traverse down the path some, to snag one of the jackrabbits that they’d spotted dotting the path. After a mot meal, both Solas and Agency would retire into the small tent for the night.

When Solas removed the items from the pack, it shifted from the disturbance and slid from atop Agency’s stomach and onto the ground. Solas, occupied with the kettle, didn’t notice the change. With less weight upon them, Agency gratefully wiggled their arms and turned their head this way and that, gazing at more of the surroundings. 

From underneath the cliff edge, Agency could see a small bushel of silver-green flora, dotted with what seemed to be a few red berries. They hadn’t forgotten Solas’ orders, so they kept still even as curiosity bubbled within them. 

They stole a look at Solas, who had his back turned to them as he melted down surrounding snow into boiling water.

And they turned to look at the mysterious red berries once again.

How can berries grow in such a cold, rocky climate? Does this mean that they’re magical berries? Would eating one of the berries give superpowers? Would they taste bitter from having been grown from rock, or would they be sweet?

The bush rippled invitingly in the mountain breeze, the red berries shining like blood.

Agency could only withhold for so long. With a shimmy, they shed all the excess weight and gingerly got to their feet as silently as they could. Solas didn’t react, seemingly distracted by the kitchenware. Agency took off towards the cliff edge.

The child’s feet were dressed in fur-lined doeskin boots, which greatly protected against cold, but offered no grip on an icy floor. Within four running steps, Agency violently slipped, landing heavily on their flank, and glided down the slight slope and over the cliff edge.

Luckily, the lower cliff floor only stood a few feet underneath, and was covered in a thick layer of snow. But the momentum of the fall sent Agency diving nearly headfirst into several feet of powdery snow, and encased the child almost completely. 

In the sudden rush, Agency was completely overwhelmed. They opened their eyes to pitch blackness and found their bodies paralyzed under the sheer weight of the snow. So they did the only thing they could; let out a piercing cry of distress.

The snow seemed to muffle all sound, so they didn’t hear any signs of recognition from Solas. They sobbed louder. Again, no reply was heard.

Now near to panicking, Agency wriggled themselves this way and that, testing the resistance against their body. The snow proved much to heavy for their meager strength. Agency remained pinned.

They continued to wail, tears falling down their face in ernest. It seemed like several long minutes before a loud crunching was heard, and a familiar figure dug through a wall of snow to reach down and scoop a shivering Agency into his arms.

Solas quickly wrapped Agency within his own cloak, grasping both of their cold hands within one of his own. “Foolish child, you could have brained yourself upon the mountainside! I’d thought you at least responsible enough to sit still for a mere ten minutes, but apparently that was wishful thinking.” Solas leaned his face down to sternly glare at a timid Agency. “Well? Anything to say for yourself, you imp?”

Agency opened their mouth to reply, but all that came out was a tiny sneeze.

“And now you’ve caught cold!” Solas continued his lecture. “Which is _what happens_  when you decide to wander off and topple down a cliff, and end up diving head-first into a pile of snow. And then I fish you out, but imagine if I wasn’t here? You’d still be stuck there, freezing to death. A rightful end for such a naughty child, it seems to me.”

Agency sniffed and sneezed once more. Solas paused in his tirade and spotted the red berry bush nearby. “Were you curious about this bush, love?” He asked as he carried the two of them back up to the camp. "Then how about next time, you wait until I am not preoccupied, and then you ask me to escort you safety to whatever caught your eye.”

He gazed down at the shivering baby in his arms. “How about that? Does that sound reasonable to you?”

Another wet sniffle was his answer. 

“Excellent.” 

The scolding over and done with, Solas relinquished his child upon the ground near the fire, and re-wrapped them within a thick shawl. He placed a hand over the span of Agency’s tiny back and gently nudged them as close towards the fire as possible. Tiny rivets of steam emerged from the shivering baby as the fire warmed the cold out of them.

Nothing eventful happened until it came time to retire into the tent, and Agency began to shiver and grouse anew. From what Solas could tell, they hadn’t been dangerously chilled by their fall, so there was no cause for immediate alarm. Nevertheless, Agency writhed in discomfort anyways, a headache pounding in their tiny skull and their breathing labored from dripping sinuses.

The interior of the tent was drafty, which gave Agency no comfort. Solas patiently laid himself near and scooped the baby into his arms. Father and child lay nestled within the bedrolls.

Agency tucked their head under Solas’ and pressed their face into the warmth of Solas’ neck. Solas shivered at their cold skin. 

“It’s like sleeping with an ice block,” he teased.

“Mmmf.” Agency whined.

“And now you know,” Solas briskly massaged Agency’s back, “not to jump off snowy cliffs, hmm?”

Solas made a mental note to prepare a pot of spiced broth in the morning, which will hopefully relieve some of Agency's chills. He realized with amusement that Agency has never actually been ill their entire lives before this point. There’s a first time for everything, he supposed.

He just hoped that the child was well enough to have a good night’s sleep. Otherwise, they’ll be a terror all next day.

And in hindsight, it's good fortune that Agency slipped and fell themselves, rather than eat one of those red berries, which Solas knew to be deadly poisonous. 

Very often, Solas found himself doubting his nurturing skills, sometimes without any given reason. He had no real inspiration or role model he could reference from, and he had never extensively cared for a younger life before Agency came along. In his younger years he would vaguely muse about the possibility of raising a family, and even took great care to ensure his body remained capable of incubating offspring. But those faint daydreams quickly dissolved after his life took its turn for the worst, and he resigned himself to the lonely path. 

He found it easy to both scold and to give praise, that was well and good enough. But knowing what was needed to be said, and what could risk being kept silent? Knowing what Agency needed to hear, and what they very much did not need? Solas had a unique repertoire of long-term ( _very_ long term) planning acumen, but it seemed to ring hollow in the face of being a good parent. 

Did Agency need _The Dread Wolf_ \- the fierce warrior, protectorate, and militant advocate for freedom? Or did they need _Solas_ \- for all his lonely, bitter pride and shame alike?

On darker days, Solas would wonder what he could possibly offer Agency - and Lavellan, by extension - that anyone else couldn't, without the danger and old pains involved. And then he would scold himself for being so selfish. 

Agency rose Solas from his musings with a feverish toss and turn. Solas tightened his arms around the warm weight, forcing Agency to lie still. The baby whine some more, then muttered a bit, and within a few minutes dropped dead asleep.

For a while, Solas gazed upon Agency’s reddened face, barely visible in the darkness of the tent. Eventually, he too closed his eyes.


End file.
